


ad astra

by AlwaysRain



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Depressed Draco Malfoy, Depression, Gen, POV Draco Malfoy, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-24
Updated: 2020-03-24
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:02:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23290645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlwaysRain/pseuds/AlwaysRain
Summary: The edges of Draco’s vision are blurred and fading. His body feels like ice. He thinks he’s going to die. He really, really hopes that he’s going to die. If Draco dies at the hand of Harry Potter, he’ll have an excuse for his failure. He’ll be free of his contract; he won’t have to murder Dumbledore, or live in fear of Greyback, or worry about his mother being left alone in the Manor with the Dark Lord while his father serves a sentence in Azkaban.Draco welcomes death eagerly.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 88





	ad astra

**Author's Note:**

> ad astra per aspera - through adversity to the stars
> 
> so this is a gratuitous mixture of the books and movies and basically 100% headcanons about draco, because he is my son and i love him and he deserves so much better from the world. not that i let him have better without suffering first, of course. i have like... SO many thoughts about draco so please come talk to me!!!! i'm on tumblr @alwaysraineh and i really really really would like to get a bit more active in the hp fandom! this is also my first hp fic ever so i hope y'all enjoy it!!
> 
> WARNING: THIS IS A STORY ABOUT DEPRESSION AND SUICIDAL TENDENCIES AND THE BEGINNINGS OF RECOVERY. PLEASE SEEK HELP IF YOU ARE EXPERIENCING DEPRESSION OR SUICIDAL THOUGHTS.

_The bravest thing I have ever done was continuing to live_

_when I wanted to die_

_-_

_Juliette Lewis_

  
  
  


There are many times throughout Draco’s life in which he wishes he were dead. When he’s young, he says it as a joke when he’s bored, or annoyed, or embarrassed. Words thrown about to make light of a situation, to change the subject, to serve as an excuse in lieu of an explanation. But until fourth year, he never takes himself seriously. 

He says it in the stands during the fourth task- Potter and Diggory vanished an annoyingly long time ago, and he’s tired of sitting in the stands staring at an empty maze.

“Merlin’s beard, this is dull,” he mutters to no one in particular. Pansy laughs and Goyle grunts in agreement, so Draco continues his thought. “Anything else in the world would be more entertaining. We’re all going to die of old age sitting here. God, I wish I were dead.”

That particular statement seems uncouth moments later when Harry reappears clutching Cedric’s corpse and screams ripple through the stadium. Students whose parents have attended the event are folded into loving arms as Cedric’s father howls his grief, and Draco knows he isn’t the only one who notices his own parents’ absence.

Nine days later, when the Express pulls into Platform 9 & ¾, only Narcissa is waiting for Draco. Dread settles deep in the pit of his stomach. He spends much of that summer wishing he were dead, if only so he could relax a while instead of playing the part of Lucius Malfoy’s perfect son in front of all the visiting Death Eaters.

~*~*~

Draco is eager for a reprieve from the rules and rigidity of Malfoy Manor when he returns to Hogwarts for fifth year. The moment he lays eyes on Umbridge, Draco silently wishes, yet again, that he were dead. He has no doubt that this strict little woman will immediately overturn the relative peace. Sure enough, Draco receives an owl from his father the same night that Umbridge is declared High Inquisitor.

The note simply says _Impress Me_ , but Draco knows what it means. The Death Eaters have been quietly influencing the Ministry and the Daily Prophet since June, and while Umbridge may not know what’s truly going on, she’s a powerful witch. Draco knows he has to get himself into her good graces. So he toes the line, follows all her ridiculous rules, and when she announces the formation of the Inquisitorial Squad, Draco is the first to sign up.

He’s sick of playing his part long before Christmas Break. Sometimes he hates being a Malfoy. Not that he ever says so out loud. The increasing amount of times he wishes he were dead, however, he voices as often as possible.

It’s easier to deal with the dissatisfaction when everyone thinks of it as a joke; when they think he’s playing, they don’t ask questions Draco doesn’t want to answer.

~*~*~

Draco returns home after fifth year, rumors of an attack on the Ministry flying around his head, and once again finds that Narcissa has come alone to retrieve him. She’s paler than usual, and squeezes his hand fiercely but says nothing. They arrive at Malfoy Manor to find Bellatrix flitting about with gleeful excitement, and a strange nervous energy hovers over the household for three days before Bellatrix and Narcissa disappear for an entire morning. That very same night, Draco stands silently at his mother’s side as the Dark Lord enters their home and orders Lucius to call for his followers.

Draco watches from the parlor as Death Eaters file in and close themselves into the dining hall with his family and Voldemort. He wants nothing more than to close himself in his bedroom and pretend that he is anywhere else in the world. He wants to pretend none of this is happening. He wants to pretend he isn’t a Malfoy.

But these are dangerous thoughts, so Draco doesn’t allow himself to think them. Instead, he waits, intensely focused on the ornately carved design of the dining hall doors until they open again, long hours after dark has fallen outside.

The Death Eaters leave silently, like a funeral procession, leaving only Wormtail and Greyback behind. Draco stands alone in the parlor, wondering if he’ll be fortunate enough to have observed this event without participating. His mother’s soft voice calling his name is all he needs to know that he’ll never be that lucky. He doesn’t let himself feel afraid, but straightens his shoulders and enters the dining hall as calmly as possible.

Voldemort is seated at the head of the table in the severe tall-backed chair usually reserved for Lucius. Bellatrix sits at his right hand, Narcissa beside her, and Lucius across the table from his wife. Draco forces himself to keep his eyes on the Dark Lord and not look to Wormtail fidgeting in the corner, or Greybak leering from beside the fireplace, or Nagini coiling her way up the back of Narcissa’s chair. Voldemort smiles. Carefully, Draco does not react.

“Draco,” the Dark Lord rasps, voice a horrible facsimile of affection. “Come, sit.”

He gestures to the empty seat on his left, and Draco approaches as coolly as he is able. Immediately across the table, Bellatrix claps her hands together. Draco wants to know what his mother is thinking, but Narcissa’s expression reveals nothing. He quickly turns his attention back to Voldemort.

“Draco.”

He repeats the name in that same soft voice. It’s unnerving. Draco doesn’t allow himself to be off-put.

“Yes, my Lord?”

“Ah. Narcissa. Well done.”

“Th-thank you, my Lord.”

What his mother has just been praised for, Draco can’t be sure, but he notes the pointed absence of his father’s name. Voldemort folds his hands together and rests them on the table, cupped lightly above his knobbled wand.

“Your father has failed me, Draco. He allowed something very dear to me to be destroyed, and he allowed the Ministry to be alerted of my return. That deserves punishment, wouldn’t you say?”

Draco swallows against the lump forming in his throat and nods. “Of course, my Lord.”

Voldemort’s smile is more of a baring of teeth than an expression of pleasure. He waves one gaunt hand vaguely at Lucius.

“That was my thought as well. So when the Ministry comes to arrest him tomorrow, they will meet no resistance. He’ll face trial and they’ll send him to Azkaban for aiding me. I will allow this to happen. But even when Lucius has been a coward, your mother and aunt have served me faithfully. So I’ve decided to extend a gift to your family name, Draco. Would you like to hear what it is?”

“Yes, my Lord. Of course.”

“You will join my legion, Draco. I have a special task just for you, If you succeed, I shall reward you with all the power you could ever desire, and I will forget your father’s failure. Perhaps one day I will engineer his escape from Azkaban.”

“And if I fail, my Lord?”

Voldemort sighs heavily and twirls his wand between his fingers as if he is lost in thought. “Fenrir has earned a reward for his services. If you fail, I shall give you to him, and your father will watch as you are devoured. Oh, but Draco, must we dwell on failure? If you are so sure of your inability to serve, I’ll save my time and give you to Fenrir now.”

“No, my Lord,” Draco says, barely able to keep the tremble out of his voice. He clenches his hands into fists beneath the table. “What would you have me do?”

_Kill Albus Dumbledore._

The words echo in Draco’s mind as Lucius restrains him so Voldemort himself can sear the Dark Mark onto Draco’s left arm. The pain is unlike anything Draco has ever experienced- dark magic saturating his veins and branding him as a loyal servant of the Dark Lord- and he wishes he were dead so he could get away from all of this. He barely keeps himself from reacting to the pain, and once the Mark is burned into his skin, Bellatrix draws him into a hug and whispers words of praise into his hair while he watches the snake on his arm as it coils through the skull above it.

Until this moment, Draco had never wished he were dead in any immediately repeated manner. But for the remainder of the summer, whenever he is left alone, Draco contemplates how much easier life would be if he didn’t have to deal with any of this. If it weren’t for the certainty of being fed to Greyback, Draco thinks he might try to fail on purpose. The only thing that keeps him from attempting to kill himself is the thought that Voldemort may find out and punish him for the betrayal.

So Draco suffers in silence. The Dark Mark burns on his arm, and Voldemort’s orders weigh on his shoulders, and despair settles in his lungs until all his thoughts are drowning in death.

~*~*~

Being cursed by Potter is like a breath of fresh air.

Draco lays on the bathroom floor in a pool of his own blood and wishes he were dead. And it’s not borne of boredom or embarrassment or annoyance. It’s not even fear. Funny, he thinks, that he isn’t afraid. He can feel the heat of the blood rushing from his chest, his neck, his face. He can feel the involuntary tears on his cheeks. He can feel the water soaking his back. He can feel his own blood filling his lungs as he coughs and splutters but inevitably inhales the mess. 

He’d thought receiving the Dark Mark was the worst pain he’d ever feel, but this is something else entirely. He’s gasping for air, whimpering, shuddering, and he’s helpless to stop himself. But unlike the crushing prison of the Dark Mark, the pain of this curse feels like escape.

The edges of Draco’s vision are blurred and fading. His body feels like ice. He thinks he’s going to die. He really, really hopes that he’s going to die. If Draco dies at the hand of Harry Potter, he’ll have an excuse for his failure. He’ll be free of his contract; he won’t have to murder Dumbledore, or live in fear of Greyback, or worry about his mother being left alone in the Manor with the Dark Lord while his father serves a sentence in Azkaban.

Draco welcomes death eagerly.

Some delirious part of his mind recalls his mother’s voice reading him Beedle the Bard. He used to love hearing her tell the Tale of the Three Brothers, just to listen to how softly she would say the words ‘greeting Death as an old friend’. Draco shudders and nearly chokes at the sensation of hands lifting him into someone’s lap. He closes his eyes and tries to smile. He’s ready. He wants this. He can feel Death beckoning.

Then his wounds begin to knit together, and the blood loss slows, and Draco’s senses slowly return to him. He can hear the low murmur of a familiar voice and he gasps as his lungs clear again.

“No,” he pleads, flailing a hand until he manages to close it over Snape’s wrist. “No!”

“Hush, Draco. Keep your dignity.”

But when Draco wakes again hours later, bandaged and alone in the hospital wing, a wretched sob tears itself from his throat. He weeps as he gives in to the all-encompassing terror that’s been settling over him since the start of summer. By saving his life, Snape has robbed Draco of his chance to escape his fate.

~*~*~

Draco spends the next several weeks in a constant state of wishing he were dead. He’s never let himself truly wallow in the desire- it’s too dangerous to want to cheat the Dark Lord in such a way. He’s starting to wonder if actively seeking death is worth the risk- if he succeeds, he’s free, but if he lives he’ll be given to Greyback. Who will, of course, very likely kill him. The beast has a taste for flesh, after all. But being eaten alive is not the way Draco wants to go.

The night that Rosmerta tells him Dumbledore has left, the Dark Mark burns against Draco’s skin as he opens the Vanishing Cabinet for the Death Eaters. He’s meant to stay and wait for them, but he turns and runs. It’s stupid, and foolish, and dangerous, but aiding Voldemort is the last thing he wants to be doing. He finds himself at the top of the Astronomy Tower, and Dumbledore is waiting calmly, and Draco barely keeps himself from screaming his frustration. If he thought Dumbledore would allow it, he’d hurl himself off the tower right now.

_Draco, Draco, you are not a killer..._

_I wonder whether your heart has been really in it..._

_You are afraid to act until they join you…_

_I don’t think you will kill me, Draco. Killing is not nearly as easy as the innocent believe…_

_But as far as being about to kill me, Draco, you have had several long minutes now…_

_If you were going to kill me, you would have done it when you first disarmed me…_

_I can help you, Draco._

“No, you can’t,” Draco says, unable to keep his wand steady as a tremor spreads through his entire body. He barely keeps his voice from shaking as well. “Nobody can. He told me to do it or he’ll kill me. I’ve got no choice.”

“He cannot kill you if you are already dead,” Dumbledore says, and the words shock Draco so thoroughly that he barely hears the old man’s offer through the pounding in his ears.

But of course Dumbledore doesn’t mean actually killing Draco. The relief that had leapt into Draco’s throat at the possibility falls away again. Killing his identity won’t be enough protection from the wrath of the Dark Lord; he needs to be gone completely. Draco’s eyes flicker to the edge of the tower again. If he’s quick, he might be over the side before Dumbledore can stop him. He’s not sure what other option he has- he can’t bring himself to murder the old man, but if he doesn’t fulfill Voldemort’s orders…

The sound of Death Eaters clambering through the tower doorway behind him sinks a steel knife of hopelessness into Draco’s heart. He’s run out of time for negotiation and cowardice. The horrible stench and hot breath against the back of Draco’s neck signal Greyback’s arrival. Disgust and horror twist in Draco’s gut. He squeezes his eyes shut and clenches his jaw to keep himself from weeping in panic at the sound of the werewolf’s voice. Dumbledore’s unerringly calm voice cuts through the deadening haze.

“...that Draco here invited you, of all people, into the school where his friends live…”

“I didn’t,” Draco manages to whisper, nearly choking on his fear. “I didn’t know he was going to come-”

Greyback interrupts again, leaving Draco with his irrational thoughts- does he even really have friends? Has he brought all this upon himself? Why was Dumbledore so convinced he could be saved? Would Greyback start by ripping out his throat, or would he taste more tender areas of Draco’s flesh first?- as the Death Eaters work themselves into a frenzy calling for Dumbledore’s death. Bellatrix and Snape arrive together, belatedly, but Draco is paralyzed in place with his eyes locked on the wilting old man before him.

“Do it, Draco!”

Bellatrix wails her encouragement with sick exhilaration, crowding close to Draco as the others whoop and holler and argue amongst themselves. Dumbledore ignores all of this. He fixes Draco with a tired, reassuring smile, and then looks to Snape.

“Severus. Please.”

Draco sees the green light of the Killing Curse, watches Dumbledore fall backward and topple from the tower, but he doesn’t hear anything through the numbness that’s taken hold of him. Snape seizes him by the back of the neck and forces him down the stairs, and suddenly the Death Eater’s celebratory screams reach his ears and Snape is dragging him through the fray of battle, and everything crashes down on Draco all at once and it’s too much. He rips away from Snape and retches, stomach bile burning his throat.

“It’s over, time to go!” Snape yells, and grabs Draco roughly to drag him along once again. They stumble across the grounds, edging closer and closer to the gate, and Draco thinks he’ll be sick again. He’s vaguely aware of Potter running after them, but it isn’t until a jet of red light barely misses them that he really realizes the danger of the situation. Snape shoves him ahead so hard he stumbles.

“Run, Draco!”

Draco sprints mindlessly away from the scene, listening to Potter’s anguished shouts behind him, heart pounding against his ribs and pulse roaring in his ears. He doesn’t know what to do or where to go once he reaches the gates- he’s shown weakness in the face of death to all the Death Eaters on the tower, and he’s failed his mission. Voldemort will surely give him to Greyback and force his parents to watch. Momentarily, Draco wonders if Sectumsempra or the Killing Curse would work if he cast them on himself.

He turns to see his aunt barreling towards him, and she grabs a fistful of his robes, and he doesn’t have time to scream before he’s wrenched into side-along Apparition. He falls hard onto the cobbled stone of Malfoy Manor’s courtyard as Bellatrix releases him and howls with manic joy. She’s too caught up in the elation of Dumbledore’s death to pay attention to her nephew’s failure.

And, as dangerous as it is, Draco allows himself to lay there on the cold stone and pray for death to be kind to him.

~*~*~

With Dumbledore dead, Voldemort faces no significant opposition. He takes control of the wizarding world so thoroughly that Draco is barely an afterthought. Thankfully, this means that Draco isn’t even worth giving to Greyback, and though Malfoy Manor remains as a base of operations for the Dark Lord, the entire Malfoy family is practically dismissed.

Draco spends the summer shut in his room, speaking only to his mother, and when September 1st rolls around, he travels to King’s Cross alone. He stands on Platform 9 & ¾ alone. He sits in his compartment on the Express alone. Enduring sneers from the other houses and Slytherins alike, he sits at the feast alone. After nearly a week of this, Crabbe and Goyle return to Draco’s side, but it’s not as the lackeys they once were.

The Malfoys have failed the Dark Lord, so Draco is ostracized amongst the children of Death Eaters. But somehow his involvement in Dumbledore’s death has become general knowledge, so the other students avoid him as well. Draco spends the entire first half of the year alone, despite being surrounded by those he once considered friends.

Wishing to die was a joke to Draco years ago, but now it’s a constant yearning that feels too personal to share aloud. Instead, Draco opts for silence. In January, Pansy draws him aside after Potions class and pushes him into an alcove.

“Look, Draco, you’re obviously miserable. I get it, alright? You chickened out of murder and now you’re afraid that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named might want revenge. But you’re ruining your reputation by moping around like this. Is it really better to sulk than to look like you’re still on the right side of this war?”

“What do you mean?”

“Everyone can tell your heart isn’t in it. People are starting to say you’ve switched sides.”

Draco frowns and fidgets with the sleeves of his robes. “I haven’t,” he mutters defensively. But he thinks, maybe, he never really belonged to either side. He was on the side of self-preservation. Not that he has much self to preserve, anymore. His fears and failures are crushing him into nothingness, and he’s starting to think that wishing for death may be his only personality trait.

Pansy rolls her eyes. “Prove it. At least act like you’re one of us. All you have to do is pretend until the end of the year, alright? You can be depressed all you want after we’re out of here.”

Draco knows that Pansy is trying to help, in her own roundabout way. And though the social situation is slightly easier once he takes her advice, he finds that feigning allegiance to Voldemort rather than sinking into the background leaves him more desolate than ever.

~*~*~

Draco spends the entire train ride home for Easter break wondering if Narcissa would let him drop out. He doubts it.

When the Express pulls into the station and Narcissa is not waiting on the platform, Draco knows that this holiday will be anything but relaxing. The day the Snatchers arrive at Malfoy Manor with Granger and Weasley in tow, Draco’s suspicions are confirmed. They ask him to identify the third person they’ve captured, and Draco knows before he looks that it will be Potter.

He can hardly see the scar on Potter’s face, stretched and swollen as it is from the stinging jinx. The eyes, though. Draco would recognize those green eyes anywhere. Harry pleads with him silently, and Draco stares into his green eyes and wonders- would he still wish he were dead if Potter won the war? His heart skips a beat and he forces himself to remain impassive.

“I can’t be sure.”

Bellatrix pulls Draco closer, cooing and stroking his hair, asking him to study the boy in front of him and give a better answer. He swallows thickly and shakes his head, unwilling to show how afraid he is. He can’t say definitively that this isn’t Harry, or he’ll be in danger the moment the stinging jinx wears off. But if he confirms Potter’s identity, he’ll once again be complicit in the destruction of the entire wizarding world.

“I don’t know,” he whispers, unable to look away from Harry’s gaze as Bellatrix whirls around behind him and begins accusing Granger and Weasley. Narcissa’s hand on his shoulder breaks Draco from his reverie, and he hovers anxiously behind his parents until Lucius calls for the Dark Lord, and Dobby sends the chandelier hurtling down towards Bellatrix. There’s some unspoken gratitude in Harry’s face as he wrestles the wand from Draco’s hand, and though Draco is more afraid now than he has ever been, he thinks he may have done the right thing. He only wishes Potter would have been gracious enough to kill him so the Dark Lord wouldn’t have the chance.

~*~*~

Draco should have taken his chances with the Fiendfyre. He’d thought about it, briefly, before he’d heard Crabbe’s anguished screams as the fire devoured him. But now, lying on the wet stone in the dark, panting for breath, he wishes more than ever that he were dead, and Fiendfyre had been the perfect opportunity.

“ _Crucio!_ ” Bellatrix cackles, and Draco folds in on himself with a wail.

Forget the Dark Mark, or Sectumsempra, or whatever damage Fiendfyre would have caused- this is the worst pain he’s ever known. Bellatrix has always been slightly unhinged, but she’s always had a soft spot for her nephew. That soft spot had saved him from her wrath after Dumbledore, and given him a chance to redeem himself before he’d refused to identify Potter. Apparently that soft spot cannot save him from her brutal rage after he’d publicly refused to join Voldemort. She tortures him while the battle is in full swing around them, and it’s only when Ginny Weasley gets too close that Bellatrix shifts her attention away from Draco writhing on the ground.

He’s still gasping for air, shuddering as the aftershocks of the Cruciatus Curse pulse through his veins, when Molly Weasley kneels beside him. She brushes a hand through his hair tenderly, warmth in her eyes despite the sadness etched onto her face.

“Come on, then, dear. We’ve still more to fight for.”

She helps him to his feet, and he sees Bellatrix lying lifeless not far away, and the sight nearly makes him retch. Mrs. Weasley rubs his back comfortingly, and Draco doesn’t know how to respond, so he thanks her quietly and pulls away as inoffensively as he can manage. He tucks himself into an alcove, still reeling from being tortured by his own aunt, and barely manages to keep from hyperventilating. He’s alive, yet again, when all he wants is to be dead. The feeling is heady and terrifying all at once.

Draco has never considered himself a brave man. He gets that from his father, he supposes. But as the tide of the battle shifts against the Death Eaters’ favor, he sees Greyback charging towards a group of students, and rage boils through Draco’s veins. He flings himself from his hiding place and runs after Greyback, and distantly he can hear his parents voices shouting his name, but suddenly he’s fighting alongside Neville and Ron to take down the werewolf that’s terrorized his dreams for three years, and he finds himself breathless with the intensity of it all. 

He might not be a brave man, Draco thinks, but he’s going to be a good one if it kills him.

~*~*~

The summer is filled with arrests and trials and sentences to Azkaban. Draco loses both his parents to the judicial process, and though Lucius will be serving a life sentence, Narcissa had earned herself only three years. Malfoy Manor is cripplingly full of memories when it is empty, so Draco spends as much time as possible outside of the house. 

He’s in the back garden, struggling to focus as he practices a spell he knows he’ll never master, when he hears a familiar voice calling his name. He frowns, confused, and turns to see Harry Potter rounding the corner of the house with a thick envelope in his hands. His expression brightens when he catches sight of Draco.

“There you are! Sorry, I didn’t mean to- … no one answered at the front gate, or the door, so I thought-”

“Thought you might trespass a bit? Saint Potter, going wherever he pleases, knowing full well there’s no one here to answer his call?”

Harry frowns. “You’re here, though.”

Draco sighs, barely resisting the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose in frustration. “Obviously.”

“What are you doing?”

“None of your business!”

“Looked like the Patronus charm. You know, it works better if you-”

“Why are you here, Potter?” Draco snaps, fully aware of the sudden flush on his pale face. He’s got enough to be ashamed about as it is, he doesn’t need his ex-nemesis knowing he can’t produce a Patronus as well.

Harry coughs to clear his throat. “Right. ‘Course. Sorry. Uh, this is for you.”

He thrusts the envelope in Draco’s direction. After a moment, Draco cautiously takes it from his hands and examines the front. His breath catches in his throat.

“What-?”

“It’s your eighth year invitation. I, erm… I asked McGonagall if I could deliver it myself.”

Draco’s gaze flickers up to meet Harry’s. He swallows thickly.

“Why?”

“Well, no one’s heard from you since the trials, and-”

“No, I mean- … why am I being invited back? I was there all of last year.”

Harry scuffs the toe of his shoe against the ground and shrugs. “Lots of us are going back. Even some of you who were there last year. McGonagall doesn’t think you got quality education, and… I mean, I obviously wasn’t around, but I agree. I don’t think a war is the best setting for school.”

Draco barely resists the urge to scoff. He bites his lip and nods. “Suppose not. So why are you delivering it, then?"

“Didn’t think you’d come back if it was just owled over.”

“... No, probably not.”

Harry gives a small smile. “I know we don’t have the most amicable history or anything, but… look, I was at all the trials. I know you didn’t… I know you weren’t a Death Eater. And Mrs. Weasley told me about the battle, with Bellatrix, and… I’m sorry, Draco.”

“I don’t want your pity, Potter.”

“Oh! No! No, I- Merlin’s beard, I’m really bad at this sort of thing. I just meant that I… I want to start over, if we can. I want to get to know Draco, not fight with Malfoy.”

Draco clenches and unclenches his fist a few times, unsure of how to react, but eventually nods and extends his hand. Harry’s smile widens to a full-on beam as he takes Draco’s hand and shakes it.

“So I’ll see you at school, then?”

“Suppose you will. You’re not going to make me share a compartment with you on the Express, are you?”

“Only time will tell,” Harry says, green eyes twinkling.

And despite himself, Draco grins. He’s spent so much time in the past few years wishing he were dead, and somehow he’d stayed alive through all of it. Now, faced with the possibility of a friendship with Harry Potter and the chance to abandon his family name, Draco feels a flutter of excitement.

He wants to live.


End file.
